


Something More

by kaistrex (weishen)



Series: Sterek Week 2017 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, Bedsharing, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Oblivious Derek, POV Derek, Praise Kink, Sharing a Bed, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Top Derek, Top Stiles Stilinski, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Derek, Writer Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/pseuds/kaistrex
Summary: “Derek, what’s going on?” Erica asks.Derek hesitates to respond, trying to decide on the most concise way to tell the story without his disgust bleeding through. Marie beats him to it.“After the Argents’ attack, we were the only pack who would give them shelter. As thanks, it was agreed my daughter would marry a member of the Hale pack when she came of age.”“But Derek is no longer an option because a marriage pact can’t interfere with a pack’s hierarchy,” Lydia fills in, disbelief dripping from every word. “And now every other member of the pack is mated, you’ve finally come calling to sink your claws into Stiles.”*When Derek and Stiles stumbled into a friends with benefits relationship purely by accident, they weren’t expecting it would one day save their asses when a threat from Derek’s past comes knocking. All they need to do is pretend to really be in love to avoid an arranged marriage agreed to years ago with a pact of blood. Considering they hadn’t bothered setting up boundaries when the ‘benefits’ first started, it’s no surprise that the lines begin to blur and Derek’s eyes are eventually opened to a truth he hadn’t been ready to face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/gifts).



> This is my gift for TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving for the Sterek Exchange. I hope you like the direction I took with your prompt! I also incorporated a few of the tropes you mentioned in your other prompts so I really hope you like it!
> 
> Strong power thank you to [smart-bit](http://smart-bit.tumblr.com) for betaing!

Derek has trouble believing it’s already been over six months since Stiles turned to him after a pack dinner and asked, “Do you ever just want to be fucked within an inch of your life?”

Everyone else had already gone home, and Stiles had stood at the kitchen counter cradling his only beer of the night while Derek turned on the dishwasher.

His restlessness all evening had been making even Derek’s skin itch but that was the last thing he was expecting him to say after Derek asked him what was wrong. Stiles’ voice was light but he didn’t meet Derek’s eyes and as silence stretched between them, Derek was acutely aware of his toes curling over the edge of a precipice.

Derek licked dry lips. “Sometimes.”

Even now, months down the line, he's still not sure how the admission ended up with Stiles riding him so hard he couldn't see straight less than five minute later. All he can remember is the best orgasm of his life and Stiles pliant and sated, happy trail smeared with come.

Through a haze, he’d watched Stiles clean up and get dressed, pull the covers over Derek still on the bed and then walk out the door, and they hadn’t spoken about it until a week later when Stiles asked, “D’you wanna do it again?”

Yes. Derek did. Very much.

They haven't said a word about it since, but nor have they stopped.

No one in the pack has ever said anything despite being unable to keep something like that a secret from werewolf noses. The only indication that they knew had been after the first time, when Scott’s nose wrinkled so hard it looked it was trying to escape his face.

Derek had thought someone in the pack, probably Lydia, would have been designated spokesperson to point out that it would be messy for the pack if things went south between the two of them. But it never happened.

Derek had spared it a little bit of worry at first, but if Stiles was looking to start a relationship with someone based solely on sex, Derek reasoned that it made sense to have it be with someone in the pack. With anyone outside — anyone not in the know — it wouldn't take long for it to collapse under the weight of all the secrets they dealt with on a day to day basis. Seeing as the goal is to blow off steam, that would hardly be ideal.

And as for Derek, it means he doesn’t have to hide it if the wolf gets too close to the surface. He can let his eyes glow or his claws out or even go full beta-shift, something he’s never done with any of his previous partners. Not that he’s been with anyone since Jennifer.

But Stiles is safe. Stiles isn't using him to get to his family or to acquire power, nothing except mutual orgasms, and it has the added bonus of Derek no longer having to put up with the wolf prowling beneath his skin, urging him to find a mate. The itch is growing ever stronger to find one now that all of his betas have, no matter that there are no viable options in his life right now.

Derek stretches out and turns to look at Stiles lying beside him, dozing on his front with an arm hanging off the edge of the bed. He hadn’t needed to ask any questions when Stiles turned up at the house once his shift at the station ended that afternoon, not long after Derek had finished his lunch.

Derek has to resist the urge to reach out and place the flat of his palm across his shoulder blades, rising gently with his steady breaths. Instead, he gets to his feet, careful not to jostle the mattress, and picks up Stiles’ deputy shirt from the floor.

Most of the times they’ve fallen into bed together have been a result of Stiles’ day at work. He’s always felt things too deeply, and ever since his spark manifested into its true potential and he took over from Deaton as the pack’s emissary — thankfully with actual answers and input — he’s formed wards around the town to keep out every creature that would do them harm. But it’s no protection from human evils, and that’s what gets to him the most.

It’s days like those that Derek returns his biting kisses, spreads his legs for Stiles’ searching fingers and grips at the headboard with his claws in lieu of the sheets as Stiles snaps his hips in near-brutal thrusts. Sometimes, Derek will soothe Stiles’ harsh kisses with a hand at the back his head to hold him still, until he goes pliant enough for Derek to nearly bend him in two as he lifts his legs to sink inside. Other times, when his shift has been long and it’s exhaustion that plagues him instead — like today — he’s content to let Derek take what he needs, sighing out his own pleasure when Derek returns the favour by taking him into his mouth. By the time his breathing evens out, he’s already asleep and Derek manoeuvres him until he’s under the covers.

No matter the mood, the result is always Stiles unburdened and Derek, as his Alpha, is reassured to know he’s taking care of his pack.

He straightens out the creases in Stiles’ shirt and hangs it on the back of his desk chair, rearranging the pants that are already precariously dangling there from when Stiles tossed them aside earlier. Derek’s own clothes aren’t faring much better, so he gathers those up too but throws them in the laundry basket before digging out a fresh tank top and pair of sweats from his drawers. He pads through to the adjoining bathroom and reaches back to pull the door to. Stiles dozes on.

Just as he hops in the shower, he hears the front door open and the click of heels announces Lydia’s arrival. After her comes the voice of Jackson, his words lost amidst the rustling of bags. He can hear Erica and Boyd crunching across the driveway outside with more bags of what can only be food.

There’s a barbecue planned for tonight, and it’s so far been a perfect summer’s day. With the promise of food and a few cold ones and being surrounded by the pack, the evening is set to be even better.

Scott and Kira will be along later after Scott’s shift at his veterinarian practice is over — transferred to him by Deaton — and Allison and Isaac, newly-mated and scrounging as much ‘alone time’ as they can get, will probably be along later still.

Having a pack of so many mated couples lends an extra level of stability, linking them like a web, strengthening and supporting. Despite the couples being together for years, no mate bonds occurred until everything had settled down in Beacon Hills, important conditions for a werewolf to mate being safety and the belief they’re in a suitable environment to raise children. No pregnancies have happened yet, but a thrill goes through Derek whenever he thinks, _Just a matter of time_.

Only he and Stiles remain unmated, and maybe Stiles will forever remain so if he ends up finding himself a human partner. As for Derek, well. With his track record, he won’t be holding his breath.

He’s just towelled off and is ready to pull on his sweats when he catches the far-off presence of strangers in the preserve. Three, heading their way.

The pack downstairs are already heading for the back door and Derek hurries to join them, pulling on his tank while halfway down the stairs.

“Who is it?” Erica asks as Derek joins them outside. They’re all standing on the porch except for Boyd who’s on the grass where he’d been readying the grill.

“I don't know. It feels like another pack.”

Passing through Stiles’ wards around the territory only reveals those wishing them harm, so though Derek is wary, he’s not yet worried. If the group approaching are werewolves, it’s strange they haven’t sent ahead to request a visit, but that doesn’t necessarily mean danger. With any luck, the wolves will just be passing through, their visit merely a formality.

As the visitors get closer, the layered howl of an Alpha rises above the trees, sending birds scattering. It's the traditional call of greeting, one that's largely foregone by packs living in populated areas, but the surrounding preserve allows for noise that would raise concerns if it were in the middle of a city.

Derek howls back, the roar hovering in the air above them.

A minute later, the visitors reach the tree line and step out to greet them, three werewolves as expected. Derek recognises them immediately.

Marie Kennedy is a figure from Derek’s past he'd hoped never to see again, but he learnt long ago all his demons will rise up again and again to drag him through their bullshit. The resignation almost feels like a safety blanket at this point.

She's flanked by her daughter, Hannah, and Seth, her son. Hannah has grown from her mother’s mini-me into her mirror image, the same long, dark hair in effortless waves and mouth perched on the same edge of smug amusement. Seth is all hard edges with an ugly curl of disdain to his lip.

When he saw them last, they were seven in number and Marie hadn’t been the Alpha of the pack. Derek had heard news of her husband’s passing a few years ago and the other three missing pack members — and any new additions — must have remained to keep watch over their territory.

“Alpha Kennedy,” he greets when the trio are closer. “This is a surprise.” An understatement.

“Derek.” Alpha Kennedy returns, coming to a stop just a little way from the porch steps. “It’s been a long time.”

Twelve years to be exact and not long enough.

Jackson shifts his feet beside him, hands balling into fists; Derek didn’t miss the insult of not returning the respect of using Derek’s title either, but he’s not keen on starting a fight. He already has a bad enough feeling about this.

“What brings you to Hale territory?” After all the years that have passed, Derek thinks there can only be one answer but… how could they not have heard the news? And why now?

Seth crosses his arms over his chest. “It's customary to invite guests inside after a long journey.”

“Seth,” Marie warns, tilting her head towards her son.

Seth glowers but holds his tongue. When younger, he was the sort of kid to twist the heads off dolls. It doesn’t look like much has changed.

“It's also customary to send an envoy to request a meeting, or at least in this day and age pick up the telephone. And yet, here we are,” Lydia says sweetly.

Seth’s eyes bulge but Marie waves a hand before he has the chance to even think about lifting a claw.

“We’re not the first to ignore what’s customary, or have you forgotten, Derek?”

Derek hasn't forgotten, but the jab leads into territory he'd rather never revisit. Unfortunately, he can't think of any other reason for their presence.

“What brings you here?” he asks again, giving in to the urge to cross his arms.

“We’ve come so you can uphold your end of the pact.”

Derek’s stomach plummets; it’s exactly as he’d assumed.

“Then I’m afraid it’s a wasted journey. The pact can’t be fulfilled.”

“Oh? That’s news to me.” Marie smiles, showing all her teeth.

Derek holds his ground despite the dread. “You haven’t heard about Laura?”

“We have. And you have our condolences.”

“Then you would also have heard I’m an Alpha now.”

Marie’s smile widens. “But there is one among your number who’s available.”

Derek tightens his arms across his chest like it might do something to conceal the way his heart is hammering. “That wasn’t the deal. The deal only included Laura and I—”

“The deal included the Hale pack. No limitation was made in the event of your pack growing.”

Derek pales as he remembers the words Laura had spoken. Thoughts of the future were far from their minds considering their new circumstances, holding together what they could in cracked and bloody hands, and after losing everything except one sister and blaming himself for it, Derek hadn’t cared what he offered.

Hannah stands a few paces behind her mother, head held high. Her wide-eyed eagerness is gone, but she still has that edge of hunger in her gaze.

“Derek, what’s going on?” Erica asks.

Derek hesitates to respond, trying to decide on the most concise way to tell the story without his disgust bleeding through. Marie beats him to it.

“After the Argents’ attack, we were the only pack who would give them shelter. As thanks, it was agreed my daughter would marry a member of the Hale pack when she came of age.”

‘ _As thanks’_? Is that how she saw it? The tears in Laura’s eyes when she’d agreed to their demands had had nothing to do with gratitude.

“But Derek is no longer an option because a marriage pact can’t interfere with a pack’s hierarchy,” Lydia fills in. She’s speaking slowly but not because she’s trying to piece together the strands. It’s more like she can’t believe the conclusion they’re leading to. “And now every other member of the pack is mated, you’ve finally come calling to sink your claws into Stiles.”

Stiles, the most powerful spark born in the last century in North America — and maybe even beyond.

“Stiles?” Erica repeats, looking between Derek and Marie. “But Stiles is Derek’s—”

“Yes,” Lydia confirms. “Stiles is already spoken for.”

Derek keeps his face blank of a reaction, already able to see where they’re going with this. But it won’t do any good.

“Our timing is merely coincidental—” Marie tries.

“Really? It looks to me like your daughter came of age a few years back,” Jackson interrupts, eyeing Hannah who bristles at his curled lip.

“Yes,” Lydia agrees. “How strange you should choose this moment to come collecting.”

Lydia and Marie regard each other with identical sneers, a formidable battle of wills. Marie may have Lydia beaten in the height department, but when it comes to forces to be reckoned with, Derek would wager she’s more than met her match.

Their glaring contest is broken when bare footsteps pad onto the porch and Derek almost jumps; Stiles must have cloaked himself to have snuck up on them.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, coming to a stop beside Derek. His hand hooks at Derek’s elbow where he’s got his arms crossed, and as Derek drops them, Stiles’ hand follows down his forearm to link their fingers together. He must have overheard the rest of the conversation and is joining in on the charade Lydia and Erica are attempting to weave.

“Emissary Stilinski—” Stiles’ scent must slap Marie in the face as she takes in their clasped hands because her nostrils flare, lips twisting. Hannah’s face has gone stony but her eyes are close to blazing.

In the long run, he’s not sure who will get the last laugh, but Derek still feels a swell of satisfaction at their expressions. If they’d picked up the scent of another on Derek, they wouldn’t have known who it belonged to, but Stiles hasn't showered, he’s wearing Derek’s clothes and they never use a condom so now there can be no question as to what Lydia meant when she said Stiles was unavailable.

“Like I said,” Lydia says coolly. “He’s already spoken for, as I’m sure your noses are telling you.”

“But not mated,” Marie points out through gritted teeth.

“ _Yet_. But in a case like this, that’s not the only Claim that matters. With the real possibility that a mate bond may occur, no one can interfere.”

They both begin another glaring match but Marie gains an edge when her lips spread in a slow smile.

“Then if it’s as you say, you won’t mind invoking the pact beneath the next full moon.”

Derek keeps his face impassive and his breathing steady, but internally, his mind is zipping through any way they can get around this. If they go up against the pact and fail and Derek tries to interfere with the Kennedys taking what they’re owed in any way, it could result in him losing his Alpha power. Or worse. They need to avoid the pact being used in any way they—

“If that’s what it takes,” Stiles answers for him, shrugging.

Derek wants to scream. Does he not realise what he’s agreeing to?

Marie smiles likes she’s wondering the exact same thing. Her eyes land on Derek and her smile turns smugger still. Lydia may be an Ice Queen and Stiles’ poker face is yet to crack under any pressure they’ve faced, but Derek’s own act has been anything but convincing.

“Well then. It looks like we’ll be sticking around for a few days.” She takes half a step back as if to return the way they came, but she pauses, eyes flickering to the barbecue grill, and her smile turns sly. “It’s been such a long journey. You couldn’t recommend somewhere to get a decent meal?”

Derek’s spine stiffens as he steels himself. He knows custom has so far been tossed out the window, but he can just imagine his mother’s face, what she might say if he allowed guests in the territory without offering a meal. Then again, she probably would have torn this woman’s throat out already.

“We’re having a barbecue,” he grinds out through his clenched jaw. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Lydia makes the quietest snort Derek’s ever heard while Stiles’ hand tightens around his. It’s not a supporting squeeze but one of displeasure. The returning twitch of Derek’s fingers reads _I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it so let’s all suck it up for one evening and avoid any unnecessary bloodshed._ He’s not sure if the entire message gets across, but that’s the best he can do right now.

“That sounds lovely,” Marie says but the sentiment fails to reach her eyes and Derek is glad that at least they’re all on the same page.

“Then we’ll see you here again at seven.”

It’s already late afternoon and if it were anyone else he’d invite them in for a drink, but he’d rather rip out his fangs than host the three of them for any longer than he needs to. It doesn’t help the rest of his pack are about to vibrate out of their skin with questions and if they want any hope of surviving the evening, they’ll need to be brought up to speed for a united front.

“Six-thirty it is.” And then they’re gone, melting into the trees and running back the way they’d come.

They watch them go, saying nothing until they’re out of range.

“Now will somebody please explain what the hell’s going on?” Stiles asks.

Derek sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face, only just realising he and Stiles are still holding hands. He releases him and gestures inside. “Come on. I’ll explain everything.”

 

*

 

When Stiles was seventeen, the splinter of a spark that had manifested during the kanima attacks leaped as if from flint and tinder and became a blaze. Jennifer’s abduction of his dad pushed him to a height of panic and desperation that Derek hasn’t seen from him before or since and her sacrifices for power were useless against his natural strength. He’d burned her from the inside out until all that was left was a blackened husk and had walked to his Jeep in a trance, driving straight to his dad and Melissa and Chris in that root cellar in the middle of the preserve before collapsing to the forest floor.

He couldn’t remember any of it when he woke two days later which just fanned his fears of losing control and chargrilling someone in the middle of the street for something as petty as stealing his parking space.

After some tutelage from Deaton — involving a lot of improvising because even he hadn’t encountered this much power in one person — and a few more months of turbulence that they’d never seemed to be able to escape back then, a balance had eventually settled. Derek didn’t understand the details, but Stiles’ became the most at ease Derek had ever seen him and his abilities had blossomed.

Few emissaries were powerful enough to set up a ward around an entire town, but Stiles could put wards around specific houses on top of that, and he still had power left to spare. It eventually came to be that Deaton had served as much purpose as he could and had moved on, confident in Stiles’ abilities to keep them safe and lend support.

With his surge in power, it was only natural that it would draw more enemies looking to make his strength their own, but after the news of every assailant’s defeat spread, new attacks thinned out until they reached this tentative era of peace. It’s been a few years since someone has been drawn by Stiles’ power. Derek’s got to hand it to the Kennedys; at least their method is creative.

As they settle in the lounge, a car pulls into the driveway, announcing the arrival of first Scott and Kira, and then Allison and Isaac only moments later. The wolves of the couples know immediately something’s wrong, and Derek sits back to allow the others to fill them in while he tries to gather his thoughts.

Despite the passage of years, the memories come easily. Of Laura’s ashen face. Of nights spent huddled in the backseat of her Camaro. Of every door closed to them no matter where they turned.

Only the Kennedy pack offered them shelter but not out of the kindness of their hearts.

A pack once respected and renowned, Marie saw the massacre of their family as their ticket to return to their former glory, lost under the guidance of the previous generation’s Alpha. But they were no longer built on love and support. Ambition and malcontent had festered instead, and in return for protection, they required marriage. With Laura an Alpha, Derek was the only chip they had.

“She promised you'd...?” There’s disbelief in Stiles’ voice and Derek is swift to defend his sister.

“She had no other choice. We had nothing. And with the threat of more hunters on our tails, more Argents, no one else would—” He can only remember Laura’s desperation through a haze, barely more than a shell in tow as pack after pack turned them away, debts owed to their mother no more than ash in the wind. When the Kennedys made their offer, Laura had hesitated but Derek would have agreed to anything. He didn’t care. Laura held back tears as the pact was sealed while Derek stood numb at her side.

On the surface, such a deal looked to make no sense. But even though just the two of them were all that remained of the great Hale pack, the Hale name was still known far and wide. A link to that and the bloodline, with a chance any children born from the marriage would inherit the full shift, had the Kennedys all but salivating.

“We stayed with them for a couple of months but Laura could tell the prolonged presence of another Alpha was giving Marie ideas. Laura thought they were planning to kill her, so she convinced me we had to leave.”

“You really think they’re capable of something like that?” Kira asks, eyes wide. Scott’s hand is white where she’s gripping it so hard.

Derek shrugs. “With the pact in place, they didn’t need her anymore.”

“But the pact hinged on them protecting you,” Lydia says, sitting forward in her chair. “Wouldn’t it render it void if they killed her?”

Derek mulls the point over but eventually shakes his head with a humourless snort. “Another loophole. Just like we didn’t specify who counted as the Hale pack, there was no mention of how long the protection had to last. They could have harboured us for five minutes and that would have been their end of the pact upheld.”

Jackson growls low in his throat and Lydia squeezes his knee.

They’d fled in the dead of night — his neglect of custom Marie had been speaking of — and they didn’t stop running until they hit the opposite coast.

“If we were being followed, we figured a city would be the best place to remain hidden and we stayed there until—” He gestures around himself to say they all know the rest. He almost wants to laugh at the irony that Laura had eventually been killed for her Alpha power, but from a threat so much closer to home.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Stiles asks.

“Hannah came of age seven years ago. I thought by the time they would have heard of my whereabouts, I’d already become an Alpha. I’d just considered the pact dissolved.”

Derek thinks of Hannah, the fury on her face at seeing Stiles show Derek ‘affection’. With an arranged marriage like this, he would have thought she’d be digging in her heels, kicking and screaming. But the resurfacing memories have reminded him of Marie’s cunning and ambition, and he has no doubt she’s forged those traits into her daughter.

“So what do we do now?” Scott asks. “Is your relationship as it is enough to pass the pact’s test?”

Stiles snorts. When the pack turn to look at him, he shrugs. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”

“But— It’s _binding_ ,” Derek exclaims. This wasn’t just a flimsy promise; cuts were made on palms and blood was exchanged beneath a full moon. “It’s not something you can just interfere with!”

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says, waving away Derek’s protests as if they were nothing more than irksome flies. “You think I can’t handle a little blood oath? As your Emissary, I must say I’m offended.”

“We should at least try looking into workarounds,” Lydia says as Derek gapes at Stiles. “You’ll have to pretend to actually be in a relationship in the meantime. We can’t have the Kennedys suspecting foul play when the pact denies their claim, and whatever your physical relationship may be, the pact might just need to pick up on whether there’s an actual relationship between you.”

Kira perks up at that. “Yeah! It might be enough if you just refer to each other as boyfriends.”

Her enthusiasm is reminding Derek of the time she said the two of them would look cute together, and then flushed red all the way into her hairline. At least, Derek would put her interest down to that if the rest of the pack weren’t nodding their fervent agreement.

“It's not like you need to do much differently,” Lydia says, with a toss of her head. “Stiles is already here most of the time and you have dinner with his dad at least once a week, not to mention all your visits to the Sheriff's Station for consulting.”

Derek blanches at the mention of Stiles’ dad. John is hardly going to have the sort of reaction he might have had back when he still thought Derek was a murder suspect, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of their friendship experiencing any strain. John has never seemed to know of the new development between Stiles and Derek, and he can’t imagine Stiles is going to fill him in on _every_ detail, but he’s not sure how long they’ll be able to keep that aspect a secret from him if they do pretend to be a couple.

Derek tries to take a steadying breath. John took him under his wing when the pack went off to college, not used to not having Stiles and the others around either, so Derek kind of became a surrogate son and it stayed that way even when Stiles came back. He’s suddenly terrified all of that is about to change, that their next meeting will involve a lot of John’s hand hovering over the gun at his hip and declaring he knows how to dispose of dead bodies.

“Stiles should probably spend every night here too. Or you could go to his place, but I don’t know why you’d want to subject yourself to that hovel.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests.

Stiles’ apartment is a tiny one-bedroomed place with a poky kitchen and barely functional bathroom. Derek knows because he’d been forced to use the shower after a fight with a witch left him covered in a slow-working acid that required immediate rinsing and Stiles’ place happened to be the closest. It was so small, he couldn’t even shut the shower door with his bulkier frame. Aside from the bathroom leaving more to be desired, it’s really not as bad as Lydia’s constant (good-natured) ribbing makes it sound and Stiles is justifiably proud of his own space.

“Other than that, just add a bit of PDA while you're out and about and the pact probably won’t know what hit it,” Isaac adds gleefully and he and Scott high five.

Derek isn’t sure what’s gotten into them and he’s about to protest that he’s not sure they even need to go that far, but the rest of the pack are already nodding along like the plan is a slam dunk.

Derek isn’t so confident. “If it doesn’t work, I'll pass on the Alpha power and go with them,” he says. “This is my mess—”

His words are drowned out as the pack all speak at once.

“This isn't _your_ mess. We're not going to let you face this alone—”

“Don’t you dare think this is your fault—”

“We’ll fight them to the death if we have to—”

Jackson is the only one who remains silent, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and nostrils flared. Derek mentally berates himself for not having a little more tact where his beta with abandonment issues is concerned.

He covers his face with his hands and exhales a shaky breath, the pall of dread easing a little at his pack's support. A hand grips the back of his neck in solidarity and Derek tilts his head to smile wearily at Erica huddled close beside him.

“We’ll get through this. We always do.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Stiles insists, smiling around a clenched jaw. He never does like being doubted by the people who should trust him.

“With the way you reek of each other, I won’t be surprised if that woman realises she’s lost and doesn’t even bother invoking the pact.”

Derek doesn’t share Erica’s optimism but he appreciates it all the same.

“Speaking of, can you please shower now, dude?” Scott asks Stiles, nostrils flared and eyebrows drawn together into a single, disgusted line.

Stiles sniggers but Derek stops him before he can get up. His ears start to burn as the pack turn to look at him as one. He licks his dry lips. “If we were really together, I wouldn't want him to get rid of my scent all over him. Especially with strangers in the territory who want him for themselves.” Derek can smell the rest of the pack marked with the scent of their significant others so they all know exactly what he’s talking about. His stomach twists regardless.

“Fine, but can he at least clean up?” Scott whines. “We don't need to smell your— coming out of—”

Stiles starts cackling at Scott's wild gesturing while Derek’s ears grow impossibly hotter. This is definitely a conversation he never wants John to catch wind of.

Stiles keeps laughing all the way up the stairs, so hard he even trips at one point and hangs on the banister, still giggling.

Derek can’t see what’s even remotely funny about the situation. He’s too busy wondering how the afternoon in his bed could have turned into this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting a chapter a day, so I really hope you're enjoying it so far!


	2. Chapter 2

When Stiles finally makes it to the bathroom — sniggers still audible over the rushing water — Lydia gets to her feet.

“If we’re catering three more wolves tonight, we need another trip to the store,” she says, pulling Jackson up with her. It’s a smart move. It will do Jackson some good to get some space right now. Derek makes sure to give the back of his neck a squeeze before he goes out the door though, gratified when it softens the set of his shoulders.

Kira and Allison join them while Erica and Boyd work on rearranging the fridge to fit all the food they’ve bought while trying to keep space free for whatever Lydia and the others might bring back. Derek follows them into the kitchen while Scott and Isaac head into the yard.

The kitchen is still in the state Derek left it earlier that afternoon when Stiles arrived from work and interrupted him before he could clean up. When Stiles returns wearing some of his own clothes he has stored in the house, Derek immediately ropes him in to help seeing as the frying pan’s dried on bacon grease is partially his fault. It isn't conspicuous at all that Erica and Boyd vacate the kitchen.

“It’s weird to be talking about this now, huh?” Stiles asks, pulling a fresh dish towel from the drawer beneath the cutlery. “Us.”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles pauses, eyebrows quirked.

Derek sighs. “For dragging you into this. I know you say this is none of my fault,” he hastens to add as Stiles opens his mouth to protest. “But it’s one thing to pretend to be a couple to keep me here. Now it’s you they’re after.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles says. “You’d like to see them try though, huh? See how creative I could get with my—” He wiggles his fingers. “If you make some requests, I’ll see what I can do. I for one think Her Alpha Highness would look rather fetching with a pig snout.”

Derek rolls his eyes fondly but ignores his attempts to downplay the situation. “We don’t need to take the public stuff too far,” he assures him. “If there’s someone you already had your eye on—”

“In this town?”

Derek smiles. Stiles has often lamented the slim pickings Beacon Hills has to offer.

“Having Beacon Hills most eligible bachelor hanging off my arm will hardly be a chore,” Stiles says, airily, flipping imaginary bangs.

Derek elbows him in the side. After Stiles’ retaliatory flick of his towel, they continue the work in companionable silence and Derek is mollified to have heard no lies amongst Stiles’ assurances.

It doesn’t last for long.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles breathes, almost dropping the frying pan. “I’d better tell my dad.” He hastily wipes off the remaining droplets, slings it in the cupboard below the stove then races up the stairs in search of his phone.

Derek’s stomach twists at the first sign of unease Stiles has shown all afternoon but doesn’t let himself dwell on it. He knows John is a reasonable man. There’s nothing to worry about.

When Lydia returns from her second shopping trip with Jackson in tow, it seems she’s taking all of her aggression out on the meat she’s stuffing into the fridge, huffing about ‘inconsiderate wolves and their drama’. It turns out they’re not the only ones with barbecue plans so they had to shop around to find somewhere that had meat in stock and she’s not happy about the further hiccup in her schedule.

By the time she’s finished, the fridge is bursting with ribs, sausages, hamburger patties, chicken wings and even some shrimp in garlic butter. Vegetables haven’t been entirely forgotten, mainly peppers, mushrooms and tomatoes to make kebabs with chicken and — Derek’s favourite — some bull’s horn peppers to stuff with cheese and sit on the grill.

Derek sets about chopping up the mountain of vegetables and Kira joins him to make up the skewers, humming quietly to herself. She doesn’t try to engage him in conversation, which he’s glad for. It’s nice for just a few short minutes to pretend the barbecue they’re preparing for is going ahead as they’d originally planned.

Twenty minutes before people are supposed to start arriving, he helps Boyd light the grill. Scott and Isaac have already spaced out the few deck chairs Derek owns, not enough for everyone even before the extra guests, so the grass will have to do for some of them.

John arrives while they’re beginning to carry food outside, greeting Derek with the customary _Son_ and hug despite his wooden limbs. Nothing about his demeanour says he’s even been informed, but Derek has no intention of being the one to bring it up first.

The Kennedys arrive minutes later, this time in a car, and the pack is all there to greet them except for Allison and Isaac who have gone to pick up Chris so he can have a few beers.

Marie has lost her sharper edges, instead exuding an illusion of benevolence and grace, and even her children look to be attempting civility. After Derek has made introductions, Marie looks ecstatic to meet John and the reason for their change in attitude is revealed. She holds a hand out for a handshake, but John eyes it as if it were coated in frogspawn and folds his arms over his chest.

Derek’s not sure what sort of welcome she was expecting, barging into their lives and trying to take John’s only son from him, but the way her face falls says that wasn’t it. Either way, this hellish evening will be worth it just for getting to see that expression on her face.

A vein is bulging on Seth’s forehead at the snub, so Derek hurries to cut the greetings short.

“Let’s eat,” he says, waving everyone through to the yard.

He takes some drink requests and heads to the kitchen, an ear tuned in to Lydia speaking to the Kennedys as she leads them outside.

“You’ll have to forgive the lack of seating. We weren’t aware we’d be having extra guests,” she says, and she may as well be spitting chips of ice. Derek doesn’t need to see them to know they’ve started round three of the glaring contest.

Kira comes to help him deliver the drinks, the only one he trusts to hand the Kennedys theirs without pretending to trip and spill them all over them. Or worse. Though knowing Kira, she’ll probably trip for real.

“You know she probably spat in those, right?” Stiles asks as they watch her heading across the lawn towards Seth and Hannah in a corner as far away from everyone else as they can get. Having them hear the observation is clearly low on Stiles’ list of worries.

Derek scoffs. “She did not.”

Stiles grins and Derek’s suddenly not so sure. With Kira’s innocent, friendly nature, he often forgets her kitsune streak, usually to his peril.

“Come on. You can’t hide out here all night,” Stiles coaxes, beckoning him to follow.

“I’m playing host,” Derek tries to protest.

“You’re my boyfriend,” Stiles says but Derek hears the unspoken correction of _You’re_ playing _my boyfriend_ loud and clear. He moves closer to throw his arms around him. “Come sit with me,” Stiles whines in his ear.

Derek cranes his head away. “Fine. Just let me get your dad some water and I’ll be out.”

Stiles hums happily, snagging himself a soda from the fridge before heading outside to sit with Lydia and Scott.

When Derek follows with a glass of water for John, he sees Marie sat beside him on a lawn chair, trying to strike up a conversation that he’s studiously ignoring in favour of watching clouds scud across the sky. Her attempt stops being so funny when Derek realises it goes beyond wanting to butter him up because he’s Stiles’ dad and because she’s expecting him to be her daughter’s father-in-law one day.

He hands John his water, returning his tight smile and hoping he sees the apology he’s trying to convey through his eyes.

Boyd is happily manning the grill with Jackson, waving off Derek’s offer to help, and with nothing left to do, he settles on the lawn beside Stiles. He leans back on his palms and Stiles shuffles closer, placing a hand over Derek’s on the grass next to him without missing a beat in his conversation.

At a glance, the scene probably looks like an intimate get together but a closer look will reveal the unease simmering. At least it’s peaceful. Until Chris rounds the house with Isaac and Allison.

The Kennedys spring to their feet, Marie managing to rein in a snarl, but there are unsheathed claws from Hannah and Seth. Isaac bares his teeth and plants himself in front of Allison and Chris.

“How can you have an Argent here — _two_ Argents — after what they did to your family?” Marie hisses, which is a bit rich considering she's trying to profit from it.

Hannah at least has had the sense to stow her claws but Seth hasn’t followed suit. “We won’t stay here with _them_ ,” he spits around a mouthful of fangs.

“Allison is mated to my beta and Chris is an honorary member of this pack—” _and both actually have an invitation to be here_ , Derek wants to add. “They won’t be going anywhere.”

Marie’s lips thin and she turns to Chris as if expecting him to back down and offer to leave of his own accord. Much to her chagrin, Chris is already opening a beer and occupying the seat she’d been sat in moments before, engaging John with a handshake. They both look to be enjoying the Kennedys’ outrage a little more than two grown men should.

With no choice but to accept the Argents are there to stay, Marie flounces off to the corner of the yard to sit with her children, stiff-backed.

Boyd calls them forward for the first round of food a second later and wave after wave follows, swapping grilling duties to give everyone a chance to eat.

When they’ve eaten their fill, Stiles almost matching Derek bite for bite despite the werewolf metabolism, he sits half-sprawled in Derek’s lap, head resting on his shoulder. Derek doesn’t know exactly what Stiles told him, but when John turns around and spots how they’re sitting, he doesn’t bat an eyelid.

The peace that was shattered is never truly reclaimed, mostly because of the storm cloud emanating from the Kennedys’ corner of the yard. Where the air between Marie and Lydia had been icy, it’s nothing to the glacial deep freeze levelled at Chris and, to a lesser extent, Allison.

By the time everyone’s eaten and their plates are in the trash with no leftovers in sight, the sun is just starting to set. Light bulbs Kira made filled with solar-powered LED lights like fireflies are just starting to flicker to life around the yard in the creeping darkness, and Stiles takes it as his cue to excuse himself to bed in preparation for his early shift tomorrow. He gives his dad a hug, claps Scott on the back as he passes and then leans down to kiss Derek goodnight.

It steals the breath from his lungs and blood roars in his ears, but when Stiles pulls back with a small, fond smile, he realises that, apart from the Kennedys, no one’s paying them any attention at all. With a final goodnight to the yard at large, Stiles heads inside and up the stairs.

With him no longer present, the Kennedys seem to deem staying any longer a waste of their time, especially with John spurning any and all attempts at conversation. If Derek had realised that, he might have bundled Stiles off to bed sooner.

Derek is the only one to walk them out and no farewells are made on either side as they leave the rest of the pack in the yard. As soon as the Kennedys’ tail lights have faded into the distance, Derek heaves a deep, cleansing sigh, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Thank God that’s over.

Back out in the yard, the cheery façade Chris has been wearing all evening turns grim.

“It’s lucky for us Marie’s ambition has driven the rest of the pack away or we’d have more wolves to deal with.”

“Driven away?” Derek echoes. That’s certainly news to him.

“One by one over the years. They’re not a family like this one and it seems they had enough of being her pawns and having nothing to show for it. We’ll still need to be on our guard. Who knows if she's got something else up her sleeve.”

It’s hardly the note they’d wanted to leave the night on when they’d first spoken about having a barbecue earlier in the week, but Beacon Hills always has a way of pulling the rug out from under them whenever they least expect it.

Chris bids Derek good night with a handshake and after hugs from Isaac and Allison, the three head out. With the unexpected and unwelcome guests, the evening was more draining than any of them could have imagined and the rest of the pack make to leave as well.

“Do you want us to stay?” Erica asks, doe eyes especially wide.

“No, we’ll be fine. Go home and get some sleep.” He pulls her into a hug and it starts the slow shuffle of everyone else filing out the door. Jackson keeps hovering even after Derek’s already given him a hug goodbye but he doesn’t point it out, just gives him another and gently nudges him towards Lydia waiting with a hand outstretched. John claps him on the back as he passes, thanking him for the food, and Derek waits on the front porch as he watches them all drive away.

He doesn’t head inside until the sounds of the cars fade even to his werewolf ears. He locks the doors — out of habit rather than them serving any use to keep out the things that could really do them harm — and climbs the stairs without a sound, creeping along the hall to where he can hear Stiles’ heartbeat coming from his room. When he peeks his head inside, Stiles is still awake albeit in just his sleepwear, and under the covers of Derek’s bed.

He lifts his head when he notices Derek in the doorway. “Want me to take the guest room?”

“No, it’s fine,” Derek says, waving away the hand about to pull back the thin sheet.

He heads to the en suite to brush his teeth and listens to Stiles talk.

“I know the evening sucked, but it could have gone worse.”

Derek grunts around his toothpaste.

“Seeing that woman trying to charm my dad was pretty great though. I wish he’d had his gun.”

Derek smiles around his toothbrush at that. _If only_.

When he reenters the bedroom, Stiles is staring up at the ceiling, one arm behind his head. “It’ll all work out.”

“I know.” Derek crawls under the covers and turns out the light.

He told Stiles that it was fine for him to stay, but he’s suddenly aware that he’s never spent time in his bed without sex being involved. He wonders if that’s what Stiles is expecting, but the whole situation is hardly setting the mood, and Stiles doesn’t make a move of his own to get closer. After a minute of silence between them, Derek closes his eyes and waits for sleep to come for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek wakes the next morning at his usual six AM alarm. He stares blearily at the arm he has stretched out towards Stiles’ now cold side of the bed and in a sleep-addled haze, he rolls over to bury his face in Stiles’ pillow. He keeps rolling off the side and to his feet when he realises what he’d been about to do. Drowning himself in the scent of his fake-boyfriend-cum-fuck-buddy isn’t normal behaviour.

Stiles has already left the house for his shift at the station, his clothes gone from the back of Derek’s desk chair, shower wet, and a bowl and spoon left to soak in water in the kitchen sink. Derek fixes himself his own breakfast of cornflakes with a sliced banana and sits in silence at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t mind the quiet — after the chaos of the day before it’s actually a welcome relief — but waking up alone when he hadn’t been upon going to sleep has always made him feel a bit off-kilter. A little like being left behind. He knows the godawful hour Stiles has to get up for his shift at the moment made that a mercy, but the feeling is there all the same.

The pack have never all lived exclusively in the house, even when it was first rebuilt. The only members who had made it a permanent residence were Boyd and Erica after they returned from college, but they elected to move into their own place once they mated a year ago. It’s been a bit quieter in the house since then, though it doesn’t compare to the silence he had to endure while they were all off at college. That’s a period he never wants to repeat.

Nowadays, not a day goes by without a visit from at least someone in the pack. He is their Alpha, after all, and he knows the college years weren’t only hard on him - at least for the other wolves. In the house, each couple, plus Stiles, have their own assigned rooms so there’s always a space for them if they need it.

The house serves as a refuge, a break for the wolves from the sometimes overwhelming sounds and smells that living amongst humans always brings. The non-wolves also appreciate the atmosphere of being engulfed by the preserve and Derek is always happy to have them.

With breakfast finished, he puts his and Stiles’ bowls in the dishwasher and gets ready to make the most of his favourite time of day to work on his book.

Pen and paper is his method of choice. The clack of a keyboard to his sensitive ears can start to feel like a hammer bashing away at his skull, a nuisance when he’s trying to immerse himself in the scene he’s writing. He doesn’t mind it so much when typing up notes later, but nothing can beat the soothing _scratch_ of a pencil on a page. In the colder months, he'd stay in his study, but during summer he likes to sit on the porch swing in the warmth of the morning sun.

He pours himself a coffee then heads outside, setting his mug in the free-standing cup holder Erica bought for his birthday a couple of years back.

He just rocks himself for a few minutes, settling in and separating his mind from the chaos that’s spilled back into his life before picking up his mechanical pencil. For just a few hours, all that will exist is the world flowing from his hand. Surrounded by swaying trees and birds singing, it’s easy to forget for awhile that their visitors the day before even happened.

At eleven o’clock, after a toilet break, a snack and quite a few coffee refills, he sets down his pencil and stretches out the muscles in his back. A ripple of accomplishment sweeps through him as he flicks through all that he’s written, though he doesn’t look too closely at the words. He knows he’ll get distracted by all the things he’ll want to tweak or add more notes to, so he focuses instead on his time well spent.

He sets his notebook back on his desk in his study, ready to be typed up later, and then heads back to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

Now that Stiles is on the force, his busy schedule means he no longer has time to sort out meals for his dad like he used to, and his own diet has been suffering too. Derek’s taken it upon himself to look out for both of them and knowing Stiles’ eating habits — and considering the evidence of his hurried breakfast slung in the sink as he most likely ran out the door — lunch was probably the furthest thing from his mind when getting ready that morning. When his break rolls around, he’ll no doubt settle for a burger from the nearest McDonalds or maybe even a trip to the burrito place down the street.

Over Derek’s dead body.

Instead, he starts preparing some paprika chicken breasts ready to be sliced over a salad, ingredients Derek already had in the fridge that the pack knew not to touch for the barbecue. It’s just a packet mix, but John likes it so much he actually has it stocked in his own cupboard at home. The discovery that Derek had prompted his dad to actually do some cooking on his own had prompted Stiles to give Derek the most enthusiastic blow job he’d ever been on the receiving end of. It still makes him hot under the collar whenever he thinks about it to this day. The chicken even gets John to eat lettuce without fuss and Derek can’t blame him; it’s actually a really great compliment to the flavour.

With chicken sliced in one container, still warm, and salad divided between three others, he snatches up a few of the spare plastic cutlery from the night before and climbs in his car to head to the station.

Stiles is out on patrol when he gets there, so Derek slaps his container with a Post-It bearing an underlined ‘ _STILES_ ’ and sets it in the fridge. He shoots Stiles a text to make sure he doesn’t buy a lunch and smiles at Tara as she waves him through to John’s office.

Inside, John is sitting behind a pile of paperwork at his desk, looking harried, and when he spots what Derek’s bearing, his eyes glaze over a little bit.

“Please tell me that’s what I think it is.”

Derek wordlessly holds out the containers and smiles when John pulls the lid off the chicken and takes a deep sniff.

“You need to start letting me pay you, or at least buy the ingredients.”

It’s a years-long argument that Derek has always ignored, and today is no different.

He sits back and lets John at the chicken first, setting a few slices on top of his salad before digging in. Conversation is sparse while they eat, but when all of John’s chicken is gone and he’s just chasing a few leaves of lettuce and a slice of cucumber around the bottom of his box, the mood in the room turns grave. “Do I need to be worried?”

Derek doesn’t need to ask for clarification. “I won’t let them take him.” Even if he has to sacrifice his life to break the pact and save Stiles from being forced into marriage, he’ll do it without hesitation. He’s not sure what the punishment would be for this sort of pact, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll pay it.

John smiles wryly. “He won’t need you to tear them limb from limb. We both know Stiles will take care of that himself.”

“He says we have nothing to worry about when it comes to invoking the pact. But I don’t know what he plans to do.”

“If he says he knows what to do, I don’t doubt him.”

Derek doesn’t get a chance to voice his concerns. Stiles arrives at the office, salad already in hand, and pulls up a spare chair. The rest of the chicken gets dumped on top and in seconds, his cheeks are bulging like a hamster’s.

“Derek says you know how to trick the pact when this other Alpha tries to fulfil it?”

Stiles shrugs. “It won’t be difficult,” he manages around his food.

“As long as you know what you’re doing.”

Stiles swallows. “Trust me, they’re not going to have a leg to stand on. Candy from a baby.”

John doesn’t press it further and Stiles takes the opportunity to reveal he’s found out the Kennedys are staying in the motel furthest from the Hale house, which Derek would be happy about if it wasn’t also the one closest to Stiles’. His displeasure must be showing on his face — and in the arms he’s crossed over his chest — because Stiles rolls his eyes, albeit fondly.

“It’s no big deal. With this whole development, I’m not going to be spending much time there anyway.”

The reminder (and cooperation — Stiles is anything if not stubborn) eases him. He knows Stiles isn’t helpless, but it’s still much easier to sneak up on him than a wolf, and Derek takes comfort in knowing he’ll be there to keep an extra eye on him whenever he’s out of his uniform.

With lunch finished, Derek packs up the containers and says goodbye to John. Stiles follows him out to his car.

“I’ll drop by my place on my way over tonight to pick up some stuff. Do you want me to bring food?”

“I’ll cook.”

Stiles turns away for a badly-concealed fist pump and Derek shakes his head.

“Any requests?” he asks.

Stiles bites at his bottom lip as he thinks. “Hmm. How about that spaghetti with broccoli and tomatoes? Then I can have the leftovers for lunch and save you making another trip.” Stiles eyes flicker over Derek’s shoulder and he reaches up to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Not that I don’t like seeing you on my lunchbreak, honeybun.”

Derek snorts and rolls his eyes. He’s not sure they need to be so blatant whenever they have an audience, but he doesn’t try to protest when Stiles leans in to kiss him. As soon as their lips touch he’s pressing closer for more, hands flying to Stiles’ hips and squeezing. Stiles’ tongue flicks at his bottom lip and he grunts when Stiles nips at it as he pulls away.

He opens his eyes to see Stiles blinking slowly.

“I have to get back.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, equally dazed. A kiss like that is usually the promise of something more and it looks like Stiles himself is regretting being such a tease. “Spaghetti it is then.”

As Stiles walks away, Derek catches sight of a few of the other deputies ogling them out the window, grinning, and, in Parrish’s case, with two thumbs up. He sighs and when he turns to get in his car after a final wave from Stiles, he spots Seth watching from the curb across the street. He stifles a second sigh and lifts a hand in greeting. Seth doesn’t return it.

There are days left until the full moon and it will be a miracle if they reach it without any casualties. Seth is clearly itching for a fight and Jackson isn’t known for his cool head. With tensions only set to rise in the coming days, he just hopes both packs choose to steer clear of each other.

When Derek gets in the car and checks his side mirror, Seth is gone.

 

*

 

Stiles arrives at the house in the late afternoon when Derek’s just started preparing dinner and they sit down to eat just gone six. The open door to the porch lets in a welcome breeze that fights off the heat from the stove and Derek is soothed by the familiar rustling of the preserve as they eat.

There’s visibly more vegetables on Stiles’ plate, along with a side salad for them to share.

Unsurprisingly, the conversation can’t stay away from the Kennedys.

“They’re deluded if they think you’d go anywhere without your dad,” Derek says, twirling some spaghetti on his fork.

“They already tried that angle, yesterday at the barbecue.”

Derek’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth, mind racing over his memories of the night before as he tries to pinpoint when the Kennedys could have tried that directly under his nose. His hands are trembling with a cross between rage and anxiety which he tries to hide by taking a bite of his meal. They have some nerve approaching a member of his pack with bribes.

“What did they say?” he asks around the mouthful, dry as a spoonful of sand despite the sauce.

“Hannah assured me they’d make sure there was a place for him in the local law enforcement.” Stiles nudges him with his knee under the table. “Don’t look so worried. You know I’m not going anywhere no matter what they offer. And can you imagine my dad the sheriff of anywhere else?”

No, he can't. And at his words, all he can think of is the way Gerard muscled his way in at the high school. He can’t imagine John ever going for it, but it makes him laugh that the Kennedys aren’t as far from the Argents as they seem to think.

Stiles’ leg hooking around his breaks him from his reverie.

“Enough about them. How’s your book going?”

Derek smiles, remembering when Stiles had read the final draft of his very first novel. He’d come down in the middle of the night to find him with his head lolled back on the sofa, fast asleep, pages drooping in his limp fingers.

Derek had shaken him awake and he’d looked horrified. “ _I didn’t fall asleep because I was bored!_ ”

That was before they started having sex. Long before. He’d ushered him off to bed in his own room, but he wonders now if he’d just crawl into Derek’s.

“It’s going good.”

Stiles waits. “Good? Is that it?”

Derek is always tight-lipped before he’s well and truly ready to share his writing and Stiles knows it, too well after he’d pushed too hard with Derek’s first book and it had spiralled into a massive fight — one that had no business being as big as it got. Stiles’ eyes are sparkling now though and Derek smiles back.

“Yeah.”

Stiles leg remains tangled with his as they finish eating, their knuckles brushing where it’s drawn them even closer together. They stay seated a while after they’ve pushed their plates aside, bellies full and warm, and comfortable exactly where they are.

But the dishes won't clean themselves. Luckily, they can all go in the dishwasher so it’s minutes before they fall on the couch side by side, the same lack of distance between them. Derek turns on the TV, ready to switch to Netflix, but The Mummy is already playing on one of the channels and Stiles slaps at him until he drops the controller. His attempt to turn over was only for show though; he’d be the first to say that the film is a masterpiece.

There’s only half an hour of it left so they watch until the end, but there’s a curl of arousal coming from Stiles, and Derek’s sure he’s only half-paying attention.

Sure enough, as soon as the credits roll, Stiles turns to him and grazes his earlobe with his teeth. He’s used it as a weapon ever since he found out how sensitive Derek is there and a shiver zaps up Derek’s spine, his eyelids fluttering shut. A gasp stutters in his throat as Stiles takes it in his mouth to suck, punctuating the attention with a careful bite as he draws back, and Derek’s head lolls onto the headrest.

He turns to Stiles who leans in to kiss him, a hand skimming across his chest, thumb grazing a nipple.

“Stiles,” he gasps into his mouth, cock already stirring. He knows what he wants.

Stiles hums and nips at his bottom lip. “I wanna fuck you.”

“Please,” Derek whispers into his mouth. Stiles smiles against his lips.

Derek turns the TV off with the remote and it clatters to the floor as Stiles climbs into his lap, fingers hooking beneath his shirt to get it off. Stiles’ follows and then minutes pass just kissing with Stiles rocking his hips.

“Up,” Stiles eventually orders between kisses, climbing off and helping Derek out of his clothes before coaxing him onto his knees on the couch, back facing the TV.

Derek grabs the blanket draped across the back and tugs it over to protect the couch from inevitable mess, knowing he’ll regret the decision later but with no room in his head to care.

Stiles takes up position behind Derek but then his forehead thunks onto Derek’s shoulder. “Lube,” he sighs, and is probably about to make a trip upstairs to fetch it when Derek chokes out, “The coffee table.”

Stiles’ warmth leaves him and he hears the drawer open, followed by Stiles’ dark chuckle. “That definitely wasn’t there before,” he says, resuming his position behind Derek on the couch and breathing hot in his ear. “It seems someone was a little eager. Did you sit here this afternoon, thinking of me as you opened yourself up?”

Derek presses his face to the cushions and shakes his head, remembering Stiles’ farewell kiss at the Sheriff’s station and the tension that’s been a distracting weight in groin all day.

“No?”

“Wanted it to be you. Wanted to be good.” It’s the truth. He’d been restless, almost desperate with thoughts of Stiles after the kiss that had felt like a promise and he didn’t feel right taking care of himself while Stiles was forced to wait out his shift.

He can hardly believe the confession coming out of his mouth, but there, bracketed by Stiles, pinned by his weight and warmth, he feels safe. And it seems Stiles knows how to say the exact things Derek needs to hear.

“You are good, Derek. You’re always so good for me.” Stiles kisses the bump of his spine at the base of his neck and Derek goes boneless. He presses his forehead to the back of the couch, already panting.

Stiles’ hands touch his hips, guiding him to tilt them up and drawing circles with his thumbs on Derek’s lower back. “That’s it, baby. Hold still for me.”

Derek shivers at the endearment and would whine as Stiles’ hands leave him, but he can still feel the brush of Stiles’ thighs against the backs of his own. The contact grounds him.

He hears the flip of the cap and, seconds later, the tip of a finger trails down the cleft of his ass and rubs in tiny circles over his hole. Derek shudders at the contact, back arching and hips tilting further up.

Stiles leans down to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and Derek flushes with pride.

He pushes back with his hips and Stiles takes the hint and slips his finger inside, all the way to the knuckle.

Derek holds still as Stiles works him open, his breathing loud in his ears and hypersensitive to every kiss peppered across his shoulders and the back of his neck. It catches him off-guard when Stiles leans in to trace the shell of his ear with his tongue and it has him clenching down on the fingers inside of him. They both groan as one.

“ _Fuck_ , Derek,” Stiles breathes, and Derek’s thighs quake as Stiles twists his fingers and works on adding a third.

“I'm ready. I'm ready,” Derek pants.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, a smile in his voice. His fingers don't let up though, not until Derek drops his head onto his forearms and starts to whine.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles soothes, easing his fingers out. “Just because you've been such a good boy for me.”

Stiles’ warmth drapes across his back and Derek grips the hand he places beside his on the headrest as Stiles lines himself up.

He keens as Stiles presses inside, pushing back to meet him despite Stiles’ attempts to go slow. He needs this. Stiles seems to get the message and sets a hard, steady pace, each thrust punching the air from Derek’s lungs. He draws back slow enough to allow Derek to catch his breath before repeating the motion over again and again, and Derek loses himself to the rhythm.

When he feels himself getting close but still needing more to get the rest of the way, he reaches down and smears the dribble of precum down his cock. It has his strokes balancing almost on the edge of too dry but it makes the sensations all the sweeter. Stiles’ pace starts to speed up as he chases his orgasm, panting into Derek’s ear how _good_ he is. It coincides perfectly with Stiles’ cock skimming his prostate just as Derek swipes a thumb over the slit of his own cock and his whole body convulses as he comes.

Stiles follows two thrusts later, panting into Derek’s ear and pressing him with his full weight into the back of the sofa, chests heaving. They stay like that until their breathing starts to calm, then Stiles grabs the wipes Derek had stashed with the lube and starts to clean him off, getting a fresh one to soothe over Derek’s flushed cheeks and down his neck and chest. It feels wonderful drying in the soft breeze coming in from the open porch doors after the exertion.

Stiles flops down and Derek groans as they manoeuvre themselves until they’re lying together on the couch, knees stiff.

Stiles looks like he can barely keep his eyes open. “That. Was. _Awesome_.”

Derek breathes a laugh into his neck. It turns into a hum as Stiles’ hand lifts to play with the short hairs at his nape.

Stiles jaw cracks on a yawn. “How about we just sleep here?”

“The blanket’s a mess.”

“I’ve got a blanket right here,” Stiles answers, nuzzling at Derek’s hair.

The night air feels cool against the sheen of sweat on their skin and Derek knows once they’re body heat settles, it will be the perfect temperature for sleep. Definitely too comfy to move.

Derek settles his cheek on Stiles’ chest and sighs as Stiles runs a hand up and down his back. He falls asleep with loose limbs and a quiet mind.


	4. Chapter 4

It feels like only seconds before Derek’s being jostled by something beneath him. When he opens his eyes, it’s still dark, but the light is turning grey like the sun is just preparing to rise. He lifts his head and blearily looks down at Stiles trying to wriggle out from under him. His eyes are tired, but he’s more awake than Derek, already smiling. He leans up to peck Derek on the lips.

“Come on. I need to get to work.”

Derek groans and flops back down to Stiles’ chest, but at insistent nudging, he manages to lift enough so Stiles can squirm free. Stiles slaps his ass as he walks by and Derek growls.

“Good morning to you, too,” Stiles laughs, padding up the stairs.

Derek hears the shower in his room turn on and he dozes off again until Stiles kneels down beside him and rouses him with a hand stroking his hair.

“I'll see you later, okay?”

Derek grunts and Stiles chuckles, leaning down to kiss him on the temple. His footsteps fade and the front door clicks shut.

Derek will just rest a little while longer before making a start to his own day.

 

*

 

He gets more of his book done when he finally gets up later that morning and spends the afternoon mowing the lawn around the whole house. At least the secluded location means he can take his shirt off without being ogled by nosy neighbours, something Stiles takes the time to appreciate when he gets back from work.

They throw together a quick dinner of chili and Lydia stops by just after they’ve eaten.

“I did some research and the only way to have the pact removed is for both parties to agree to it,” she says, marching into the kitchen and slapping her bag down on the kitchen counter.

“I told you, these things are binding.”

She purses her lips at Derek’s pessimism.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Stiles says with a shrug. “I already told you I’ve got it covered.”

Lydia turns her displeasure on him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to try playing around with blood magic—”

“I’m not going to be playing around with it,” Stiles hisses.

Lydia studies him and it’s like Stiles reads a question on her face that Derek can’t work out.

“It will work.”

“But if it doesn’t—”

“ _It will work_ ,” Stiles repeats, snatching up his phone from the kitchen table and storming up the stairs.

When Derek’s bedroom door slams, he sighs. “Something must have happened today at work,” he says, the only explanation he can think of for Stiles blowing up like that. “I’m sure he’ll apologise later.”

Lydia shakes her head. “It was my fault.”

Derek fails to see what Lydia did wrong, but she isn’t one to accept blame lightly so maybe they’re in an existing argument he doesn’t know about. He doesn’t press the matter; that’s hardly something he wants to put himself in the middle of.

Lydia picks up her bag and he walks her to the door.

“I’ll keep digging. Even if Stiles is right, I don’t doubt the Kennedys will be ready with a new clause in the pact to trip us up with.”

Derek thanks her and stands out on the porch long after her tail-lights have disappeared around the bend, enjoying the balmy evening air while giving Stiles a chance to cool off. Inside, he closes the dishwasher and straightens the dish cloth where it hangs on the oven handle before climbing the stairs.

It’s strange to knock on his own bedroom door before entering (and he should probably be noting that it’s stranger still for Stiles to use Derek’s room as his haven).

“Hey.”

Stiles is tucked into bed, sat up against the headboard with his phone in hand. “Hey.”

Derek lowers himself onto the foot of the mattress as if approaching an easily startled animal. “You know Lydia doesn’t doubt you can do it. It just pays to have a backup plan. God knows we could have done with a few back when you were in school.”

“Hey, we pulled through!” Stiles exclaims, but the sparkle in his eyes and twitch of a smile about his mouth says he isn’t really offended.

It’s strange to think back with fondness on a time where they were never sure if any of them would survive the week, but Derek still finds himself smiling. “Maybe.” He reaches out to squeeze Stiles’ ankle through the thin sheet. “But this isn’t something I want to take chances with.”

“We won’t be taking chances,” Stiles whispers. “It can’t— This is foolproof.”

Derek studies him for a few seconds, the downturned mouth and lowered eyes. He nods. “Okay.”

Stiles smiles at him but it’s weak, and not like it has anything to do with exhaustion. “I’m going to call it a night. Are you turning in or…?”

“I’m going to work on my book for a bit.”

“Okay. Don’t sit up too late.”

Derek squeezes his ankle again. “I won’t.”

He sets the door ajar as he leaves the room, turning back to give Stiles one last glance where he’s puffing up his pillow. He can’t wait for this mess with the Kennedys to be over.

In his study, he puts in his headphones with the volume at its lowest possible setting and gives himself an hour to type up as much as he can. Usually, he’d wind down after with a bit of TV, maybe a film, but he and Stiles were going to watch whatever the latest blockbuster addition to Netflix is until Lydia arrived and shook up their plans. Now he feels listless and ends up turning in early too.

Back in his room with his teeth brushed, he stands for awhile and stares at the shape of Stiles in the darkness. He doesn’t move or make any sound, but Derek knows he’s still awake.

 

*

 

The next few days pass much like they would have even if the Kennedys weren’t in town. He writes in the mornings, makes lunches for the Stilinskis that he either delivers himself or prepares the night before for Stiles to take, and dinners are spent with the pack in any combination.

He sees a few of the Kennedys around town — at the grocery store and again across the street from the Sheriff’s Station, and there’s even an incident where Jackson and Seth almost come to blows in the middle of Main Street. Luckily, Derek is present and manages to defuse the situation with a flash of his eyes — but aside from that he doesn’t hear from them.

Stiles has spent every night in Derek’s bed even without sex putting him there. Before, he still would have slept in his own, either in his room at the Hale house or, more likely, back at his own place, but Derek is actually growing quite fond of being lulled by his soft breaths and the beat of his heart. When it’s over, it will probably take him a while to get used to the silence again.

Stiles has been rotated to a later shift at the Station so Derek isn’t waking up alone at the moment and gets to witness the open-mouthed, drooling glory of a dead-to-the-world Stiles. Needless to say, he’s snapped a photo with his phone for future potential blackmailing opportunities.

On the Saturday morning just a few days before the full moon, it's no different and Derek takes a moment to watch him, stifling a laugh, before slipping out of bed and into the hall.

The house is quiet as he pads down the stairs but it won’t be for much longer. The rest of the pack will be heading over soon to share breakfast, something they try to do at least once a month. After their barbecue was as good as gatecrashed last week, this is a get-together the Kennedys aren’t going to manipulate an invite to.

Pancakes are always the big favourite so he turns on the oven ready to keep them warm and then sets about mixing enough batter to feed a small army. With the number of times they’ve done this, he’s got the method down with the perfect heat and the perfect flip timing, and the repetitive motions are are a nice reprieve from whirring thoughts.

The pack start to trickle in half an hour into the batch, and when John arrives, he pauses his pancake frying to make him a bowl of oatmeal with banana and honey. John purses his lips but doesn’t argue because he knows it’s the only way he’ll be able to lay a hand on a pancake. When Stiles comes down to join them all, freshly showered, and spots his dad’s bowl despite all the pancakes being eaten around him, he eyes Derek with the same look he’d gotten when Derek introduced his dad to the paprika chicken and landed himself that blowjob. Derek gets so distracted he nearly lets a pancake burn. He takes that as a sign that they have enough for now and moves the frying pan to an empty hob.

He joins them all at the table, already splattered with drips of maple syrup and juice from pieces of dropped strawberries, and slices a banana over Stiles’ stack of pancakes before he has a chance to drown them in syrup. Stiles rolls his eyes but eats it without complaint.

The Kennedys aren’t mentioned once and Derek is glad of it. An hour or two of pretending everything is as it was, is exactly what they need, especially Stiles. He’s not sure how much it would take to rub Stiles the wrong way again and have him storming off with a terrible start to his day at work. Instead, the breakfast passes without a hitch, Stiles and Lydia seeming to have made up sometime since last night.

Stiles ends up being the last to sit at the table but the first to leave it, dashing off to get dressed for work. When he comes bounding down the stairs in his uniform and into the kitchen, he pauses long enough to lean down and peck Derek on the lips before heading to the door. “Thanks for breakfast!” he calls over his shoulder.

The door swings shut behind him and Derek licks his lips, tasting the sweetness of lingering syrup from Stiles’ kiss. It’s only then that he notices the silence and he freezes, every eye on him.

“Are we worrying about hidden cameras now too?” Isaac asks. There’s a thud followed by his immediate hiss of pain and a flurry of activity erupts, Boyd piling up dirty plates, Lydia asking John to pass the syrup and Kira bustling round the table to refill everyone’s juice. Derek sits motionless at the centre of it.

It’s conjured the hazy memory of a sleepy kiss the other morning on the couch, something that should have been alien. He hadn’t noticed it in his drowsiness and hadn’t thought twice about it since, but he’s now realising what a strange thing that was for them to do.

They’re really getting carried away with this whole fake relationship thing.

It doesn’t take long for the pack to depart with a myriad of excuses until it’s just him and John left. He busies himself with the dishes, beginning to wonder if not noticing the kiss the other day actually had anything to do with being half-asleep.

“I think it’s clean.”

Derek jumps and looks at John who’s gesturing to the frying pan Derek’s cloth was going to wear a groove in from his absent-minded scrubbing. He hands it over for John to dry and wrings his cloth out.

“So. How long has your physical relationship with Stiles been going on?”

Derek drops the cloth in the sink with a _splat_ but John waves away his panic.

“I’m not going to lecture you, son. You’re both responsible adults.” He pulls a face as soon as he says it, like he’s rethinking applying that term to Stiles. He shakes his head and carries on. “I’ll be asking these questions to Stiles too. Have you discussed boundaries or what will happen if either of you happen to find someone else?”

Derek picks the cloth back up and wrings it out a few more times, an excuse not to meet John’s eyes. “We don’t really talk,” he says, then his spine stiffens at what that implies about their bedroom activities. He hastens to elaborate. “I mean, there’s nothing _to_ talk about.”

John doesn’t look convinced but he shrugs. “As long as you know what you’re doing.” He focuses on running the dish towel over the frying pan. “I suppose kissing even without an audience is just to fool those pesky werewolf noses and doesn’t need talking about either.”

Derek winces. He would say he doesn’t know what came over Stiles, but it’s not like he noticed anything wrong with it either until Isaac made his comment. Instead, he aims for a bit of nonchalance of his own. “It does help with the authenticity, but where we’re already so close—” _and used to kissing_ “—playing the part just comes naturally.”

John gives a slow nod as he sets the dry pan on the counter. “Makes sense.”

Derek busies himself with putting it back in the cupboard and tries to ignore how the crease between John’s eyebrows said he doesn’t think it makes sense at all.

 

*

 

John must have stayed true to his word and cornered Stiles about the kiss while they were at work, because it’s the first thing Stiles talks to him about when he gets home.

“So, about that kiss this morning,” Stiles starts and Derek freezes where he’s dicing some potatoes. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. With everything that’s happening, I guess I just forgot for a minute that the Kennedys weren’t around. I didn’t even realise I’d done it until my dad brought it up.”

For some reason, Derek’s hands are shaking and he sets down the knife.

It’s not a surprise that it’s similar to the excuse Derek gave John. It’s just more evidence that Derek is worrying over nothing. He turns to smile at Stiles but it feels like a mask he’s slotted over his face. “Yeah, we just got carried away. It makes sense.” He bites his lip after he utters it, not meaning to echo John’s words, words that have been haunting him all day.

“Cool.” Stiles taps out a rhythm on the counter with his fingers. “When will food be ready? I was thinking of doing some vacuuming before dinner just to get it out of the way.”

Derek casts his eyes over his chopped vegetables, considering. “You’ve got an hour.”

Stiles snags a slice of carrot, shoving it in his mouth before Derek can snatch it back, and grins before heading into the lounge.

Dinner and TV would be the perfect recipe to end in sex — as the other night proved — but something feels raw between them, like a bruise that Derek doesn’t want to touch. He’s not sure if Stiles feels it too but he makes no move to initiate anything all evening. Derek wonders if it’s because he’s the only one giving off weird vibes, and the worry that Stiles might confront him about it and discover that the kiss _has_ made him uncomfortable — but for reasons that it shouldn’t — is making his attempts at sleep worse.

The fact that the kiss happened in front of the pack in a normal domestic setting is just making him realise that it’s something he wants, and probably has wanted for a long time. After all of his past experiences leading to him locking himself off from those sorts of scenarios, he’s forgotten what it’s like to care for someone in that way (if his partner’s feelings were manufactured, Derek’s weren’t). That must be what’s making these feelings come out of nowhere. It has nothing to do with the fact that it was with Stiles.

 _But is it out of nowhere?_ A traitorous voice in his head asks. Derek tries to ignore that all of this started long before the Kennedys came to town.

He thinks about the times he’s been to his pack member’s houses for dinner, how the couples moved together in the kitchen and sat at the dinner table. He remembers him and Stiles the other night, so natural he didn’t even notice how unusual behaviour like that should be for two people who are just friends.

It takes him a while to realise it isn’t only his whirring thoughts keeping him awake. Beside him, Stiles doesn’t have the even breathing or steady heartbeat that Derek’s gotten used to over the past few nights.

He wonders if it’s his own restlessness keeping Stiles awake or if he has worries about the Kennedys of his own. Derek opens his mouth to talk, but the darkness feels like a weight pressing the words back down his throat.

Finally, what feels like hours later, he manages to drift off to the voice in his head telling him that everything about the two of them together makes sense.

Makes sense. _It makes sense_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting the final two chapters at the same time tomorrow because I think it will flow best if you read them together. Thank you to everyone for reading this far :)


	5. Chapter 5

Derek is restless all day of the full moon.

Usually with another pack in town, it would be custom to share the evening meal with them before inviting them on a run through the preserve, as he can remember his mother doing when he was a child. Considering the delicate circumstances, that would be a terrible idea and, honestly, all cares for custom have dried up after stewing on the Kennedys’ cheek.

The pack eat together as they usually would and aside from ending up with leftovers and the occasional bout of silence, the dinner goes as normal. Derek sits at the head of the table and says even less than usual. It’s not that he’s worrying about what will happen if the pact doesn’t judge in their favour because he’s confident his newly-realised feelings will do the job. There’s just a flutter of nerves every time he thinks about the pact confirming them. The reassuring press of Stiles’ leg from where he sits on Derek’s right does nothing to calm him.

John sits on Stiles’ other side in his uniform, always working full moons even before werewolves spilled into his life despite promises that it’s a night the wolves can keep watch. He’s left his gun at the door, but Derek knows it will be strapped to his hip as soon as the Kennedys arrive.

They approach from the preserve as soon as darkness descends, near ten o’clock with the late sunsets of summer, and Derek leads the way to the back porch to meet them.

Kira’s LED-filled light bulbs emit soft, warm glows where they dangle from shrubs around the yard, contrasting with the cool light of the silvery disc of the full moon above the trees. Derek just hopes no blood will be spilled to ruin the picture.

He descends the porch steps and stands with his arms crossed over his chest, the rest of the pack spreading out to flank him. Stiles takes up position at his left.

“No one makes a move unless I say,” Stiles murmurs. “As long as one of us—” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll be okay.” Despite the pause, there’s no uncertainty in his voice and Derek mirrors it. If what Stiles has planned doesn’t work, the discovered feelings swirling in his chest will no doubt do the job. Of that he’s certain. And if the Kennedys attempt anything else, anything at all, he’s ready to kill if he needs to. He won’t let another ghost from his past threaten what he’s managed to build.

The Kennedys are approaching at speed, revelling in the full moon his pack have yet to enjoy. They slow as they reach the tree line and step out barefoot, clawed and glowing-eyed. They assume their human faces and Derek’s claws itch to pop out when he notices Hannah has her gaze fixed on Stiles, eyes glittering. He looks forward to seeing it extinguished.

“Let’s get this over with,” Derek says, before Marie can waste time on honeyed pleasantries. Her gaze darkens but she doesn’t argue as he steps forward. It’s unusual for her to remain quiet. Maybe the nerves Derek has shed have been siphoned into her instead. Her eyes flicker between both of his and Derek can see the beginnings of fear there, no space left for the triumph she’d displayed when they first arrived in town.

He holds out his right hand, palm up, as Laura had done so many years before. Marie unsheathes the claws on her own right hand and drags the sharp point of her index finger diagonally across his palm. She doesn’t dig more unnecessarily when making the cut than she has to; even she has respect for the ritual.

As Derek’s blood spills, he feels the pact awaken, a bond tying them together that had so far lain dormant. A noose around his neck. It calls for its other half, searching. He just hopes when Marie’s side is awakened it will sever rather than tighten.

Stiles shifts beside him, whether able to just feel the magic or the same sensation, he doesn’t know.

Derek cuts Marie’s palm with the same care she showed him and as soon as his claw leaves her skin, their hands gravitate towards each other like magnets, hot and sticky with blood. They clasp together like they’re about to arm wrestle in midair, but with that simple gesture, the magic tying them— snaps.

The breath rushes from Derek’s lungs as their hands spring apart, like from the force of an electric shock. The magic that had been ready to strangle him has fallen away, and he feels like a weight on his lungs has been lifted.

Marie’s mouth is open, a dumbfounded expression that Derek will look back on with glee in the years to come.

Derek is the first to speak once he’s caught his breath. “Your claim is rejected,” he says, voice hoarse like tissue paper in the silence of held breaths. It’s barely audible over the rustle of trees surrounding them.

Pale-faced, Marie is trembling with building rage and lingering shock. “You— You manipulated the pact,” she accuses Stiles, seconds away from raising a finger to point. “You used your magic—”

“I love him.” Stiles’ doesn’t raise his voice but it cuts through Marie’s desperate protests regardless.

“Your relationship isn’t real!” Her voice has taken on a hysterical edge now, and though her eyes aren’t yet a blazing red, they’re beginning to simmer.

“Whatever our relationship is,” Stiles says, sounding as weary as he had the other night. “I love him. The pact recognised that and now it’s void.”

There’s no lie in his heartbeat and it has Marie snarling. They all know living with wolves makes practiced liars, but there’s nothing she can do about it. The pact is broken, just as Stiles said. The Kennedys came collecting and used up their chance to get what they wanted.

“This isn’t over—”

“Yes, it is.” The bite of scorn from Stiles has Marie recoiling. “You preyed on Laura and Derek’s vulnerability and now you’re getting exactly what you deserve: nothing. You can spin all the sugar you want, it can’t hide that all you saw was opportunity and spoils. Be glad we’re allowing you to walk away with your lives.”

“You never had any intention of leaving with us even if the pact did order it.” Her fists are shaking at her sides.

“Of course I didn’t. I’m no wolf. I’m not part of this pack through duty or a debt. I’m here because I choose and because Derek is an Alpha I respect. I’d never obey your leadership.”

Stiles’ hand finds Derek’s, lacing their fingers, and Derek squeezes. He absorbs the sensation, the warmth and comfort and support. As soon as the Kennedys walk out of their lives — or limp, however this situation resolves itself — they’ll have no more excuses to touch like this.

The wolf that had been prowling beneath the surface springs to the fore as Marie’s face contorts, and her children follow suit. Before they can launch an attack, Stiles raises his hand, palm facing Marie. Her entire body quivers and she sinks to one knee, then the other as if under the pressure of a great weight.

Stiles twists his hand round and clenches it into a fist, almost like he’s squeezing her heart in the palm of his hand.

Marie’s jaw is clamped shut, fangs gritted as she tries to fight whatever magic Stiles is weaving on her, but her fangs and claws recede and her red eyes dim until they’re back to their normal deep brown.

“Take one step and she’ll be an Alpha no more,” Stiles says to Hannah and Seth. His voice makes the hairs on Derek’s arms stand up as if charging the air with static.

They all stare at Stiles’ fist. With one tug, he could rip the Alpha power from her body. Derek knows it, as do his pack. All that remains is to see whether Hannah and Seth consider it a bluff. He’s half-wishing they do.

The trees continue to rustle but the animals have silenced, sensing the threat of nearby predators. The silence between their two packs stretches for the length of a held breath and then Hannah and Seth both lose their shift, looking like wide-eyed children in its wake.

Stiles’ voice has returned to normal when he next speaks. “You’re going to run back to your motel room, get your stuff, drive out of town and never come back. The wards will allow you through for that one last time.”

Seconds pass and no one moves, not until Stiles raises his hand again and Marie scrambles to her feet. Her lips are trembling, and Derek doesn’t want to know what it felt like to have her power gripped in Stiles’ hand, at the mercy of his rage. They back away until they reach the treeline, unwilling to turn their backs until they're out of sight.

They listen to the Kennedys’ footfalls quicken as they flee and only when the sounds of their retreat have almost faded does Derek tilt back his head and howl. The rest of the pack join in and Stiles jumps into his arms, laughing, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. Derek lowers him back to his feet and has a moment to just breathe him in before hands from the pack are clapping him on the back and Stiles is hugging Scott, and then his dad. John draws Derek in to join them and his overflowing joy has him wanting to squeeze with all his might. He lets go before he can give in to the impulse.

Jackson lets out another howl as he shifts and runs off into the trees, followed by Isaac and Erica. Derek loses his shirt, tossed uncaring to the ground at his feet, and when out of the rest of his clothes, he assumes his wolf skin. He bounds across the yard and into the trees after his betas, his pack’s laughter like music.

They chase each other through the trees, able to enjoy the full moon at last, and somewhere amongst the celebrating — or, as Stiles would call it, frolicking — John heads off to work.

It’s been barely ten minutes when Derek feels an ease in pressure and Stiles says, in a voice that easily carries through the trees to their werewolf ears, “They’re gone.”

Derek howls again, more melodic in his wolf form than the roar when human, and his betas can’t resist the pull to join in once more. He leaves them to their chasing and circles back to the yard, pausing just inside the tree line.

The girls sit sandwiched on the porch swing, rocking gently and enjoying the cool night air, while Stiles stands in the middle of the yard, upturned face lit by the moon. His eyes are shut, lips parted, and Derek can feel his magic thrumming in the air around him, feeding his strength into the wards and probably blocking the Kennedys out. His chest swells as he breathes deep and he opens his eyes on the exhale, meeting Derek’s where he stands just inside the tree line. The corner of his lips pulls up into a smirk Derek knows well and his heart thuds as Stiles turns and heads towards the house.

Derek’s muscles are coiled where he’s crouched in the undergrowth, ready to spring and give chase, but he hesitates. With his newly-realised feelings, he’s wondering for the first time if it’s really such a good idea to continue as they have been. The Kennedys are gone and they won’t be pretending to be a couple anymore, so wouldn’t a clean break be the smartest move?

But with the elation of another threat escaped unscathed and the pull of the moon drawing the wolf’s wants and passions to the surface, it’s so easy to give in. Just one more time. And that will be the end of it.

He slinks from the trees and across the yard, ignoring the knowing smiles traded by the three girls as he passes and prowls into the house. The rustle of clothing is loud in his ears as he pads up the stairs, and when he reaches his room, Stiles’ shirt is already on the floor and his jeans are halfway down his thighs.

“How about a little celebration?” he asks, and Derek wastes no time in shifting back and leaping forward, launching them both onto the bed.

His eyes are already glowing, teeth a little sharper than they should be.

Stiles laughs, his head thrown back into the pillows as Derek gets his jeans the rest of the way off and makes short work of his underwear. Derek surges up to kiss him, delving into his mouth with his tongue and groaning as Stiles sucks.

When he reaches over to the bedside table for the lube, Stiles squirms out from under him and raises his ass up with his knees.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, face pressed to the pillows.

Derek opens him up with what has become practiced ease, knowing exactly how to twist and curl his fingers to hear Stiles curse. At Stiles’ chorus of _I’m ready_ , Derek lines himself up and sinks inside, both sighing as soon as he’s fully sheathed. He runs his hands down Stiles’ back, feeling him shiver at the gentle touch, before placing them on either side of Stiles’ head on the mattress and letting the animal take over.

Usually, he likes to see Stiles’ face when they have sex, to watch his eyes lose focus or his mouth drop open on a moan he can't contain. But on a full moon, nothing beats this, the hunch of his hips and Stiles’ needy submission. He gives in to the instinct to drop his fangs and he’s sure his eyes must be glowing like hot coals.

Going by the cries falling from Stiles’ lips which he’s not bothering to muffle in the pillow, he enjoys the position just as much as Derek. His fingers are grasping uselessly at the sheets, his back arching his ass higher with every thrust, and Derek’s fangs itch to bite. He holds them against Stiles’ neck where it curves to meet his shoulder, pressing them to the delicate flesh but careful not to break skin.

With the Kennedys thwarted and gone for good, his pack in the surrounding preserve and the full moon above, he's buoyant in a way he can't remember feeling for a while. He can still hear what it's like for Stiles to say he loves him, what it could be like to hear it for real, and he has him, here, in the safety of his arms. His _mat_ —

Derek’s hips stutter to a halt, a whimper tearing from his throat like he’s been wounded. He pants against Stiles’ shoulder blade, eyes wide, and sits back on his knees to stare down at what can only be a knot forming, hot and swollen, at the base of his cock.

“Give— Give it—” Stiles pants, sounding almost delirious with pleasure.

Instead, Derek pulls out and drags the sheets over his hips, tearing at them with his claws as his own pleasure turns to searing pain when his knot stops growing, no partner to tie him to. He can’t. They'd be _mated_ and to do that to Stiles...

“Derek?” Stiles asks, lifting his head to stare at Derek quivering with restraint on the bed beside him.

“Don’t—” Derek tries to warn, but Stiles has already tugged at the sheet. When he catches sight of the beginnings of the swelling bulb, he gasps and Derek scrambles to cover himself despite the damage being done. Stiles now knows exactly how he feels. He knows the presence of a knot means Derek’s subconscious werewolf brain has chosen him as his mate — for _life_ — tricked by the past week of playing pretend and false declarations of love.

“Stiles, it— it’s okay,” Derek grunts out through the pain and gritted teeth. “It— It doesn’t have to mean anything. We can just forget—”

Stiles clambers into his lap and Derek’s hips buck; if not for the sheet he’d be back inside. His knot sends out a fresh pulsing ache at the thought.

Stiles shakes him by the shoulders. “You listen to me, you self-sacrificing, asshole of a martyr, and listen hard.” He grabs Derek’s hand and puts it over his chest, paying no heed to his lethal, extended claws. “I love you.”

Derek whines at his steady heartbeat and tries to turn away but Stiles grabs his face in both his hands.

“ _I love you_ ,” he says again, softer this time but charged with an unmistakeable extra weight.

Derek remembers the way he’d said it earlier to Marie, heart pounding in his chest as he realises that was _real_ . It wasn't only Derek's feelings that put an end to the pact.

Stiles’ face is flushed and unguarded as Derek stares up at him, sure it must mirror his own. Words fail him, as does full comprehension of the extent of what Stiles is saying, but as usual, Stiles has no shortage of them.

“I’m yours.” His thumbs sweep across Derek’s cheekbones, eyes smiling. “Now get back inside me and make me come on your goddamn knot.”

That startles a snort of laughter from Derek. Only Stiles could turn such a tender moment into something so vulgar. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

They scramble to tug the sheet from between them and Derek flips Stiles onto his back, honey eyes going dark at the manhandling. He presses his face to Stiles’ neck as he sinks back inside, the skin turning damp under his panting breaths. Stiles mewls at the first nudge of his knot, becoming a choked cry as it slips in and out, again and again, until Stiles gasps, “Breed me, Alpha.”

Derek’s knot swells so fast he sees stars, locking him inside of Stiles’ body. He fits his fangs to the junction of Stiles’ neck and howls.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles isn't there when he wakes.

Derek is sure his heart stops beating and he gasps for breath, lifting his head and throwing his senses out to find him. He doesn’t need to go far. He can hear Stiles’ voice outside on the porch, and though the knowledge he hasn’t entirely fled settles him, the dread that Stiles thinks last night was a mistake still threatens to choke him.

“I just thought, if it was someone he trusts…” Stiles is saying.

“After everything, do you really think there can be anything casual about sex for Derek?” Scott asks. “We just didn't want to push him into realising how he really felt before he was ready. You know everything he’s been through. It made sense if he was taking his time making the jump from the physical part to the feelings part, so we all agreed it was best to leave it to run its natural course.”

Stiles remains quiet, a highly unusual state for him.

“Derek loves you,” Scott says gently. “Don’t pull that face. He _does_. He _mated_ _with you_. That happens once in a lifetime. Literally. And I can’t even begin to explain to you how much love and safety and trust you need to feel for that to happen. For _Derek_ to be in that state of mind after everything he’s been through? That’s really special.”

“I guess,” Stiles says, barely above a whisper.

Scott sighs but he doesn't push it further.

Derek’s stomach twists. He knows he can't really be faulted for Stiles’ doubt considering he only realised his feelings two days ago, but from now on he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure he never feels that way again.

“I never thought you’d be so supportive of this,” Stiles says eventually.

“What do you mean?” Scott asks, offense and furrowed brow thick in his voice.

“Whenever you'd smell us together you couldn't stand it. You'd get this look on your face like we'd been sleeping in a sewer—”

“I don't hate it!” Scott whines, and Derek imagines he must be the picture of abject misery. “And that’s the problem! Do you know what it’s like to have your best friends smelling like each others’ spunk and have your older, human side rather suffocate than have that air in your lungs, but then have your wolf side want to bathe in it because it’s the smell of your Alpha’s happiness and pup potential? How am I supposed to cope with that!” He actually sounds like he's close to tears. “And what about last night when I had to hear you telling him to _breed_ you? My wolf side was all—”

“ _Will you keep it down!_ ” Stiles hisses and Scott’s muffled cries say Stiles has his hand over his mouth. “Do you want my dad to hear you?” There’s a pause then Stiles snorts. “Your tongue, Scott? Really? Though after what you just confessed, I guess it makes sense you’d want to lick the hand that’s been around Derek’s—”

“ _Stop it!_ ” Scott screeches, followed by some exaggerated spitting noises. “He’s listening you know,” he says when he’s deemed his mouth appropriately purged.

“Who, _Derek_?” Stiles squeaks. “Since when?”

“A while.”

Stiles groans and Derek can picture his typical, full-body eye roll.

“Well, knowing the two of you, you probably would have gone on like nothing happened!”

Stiles makes a few protesting squawks but after a few seconds of silence mumbles, “You make a point.”

“You should go to him. I think he was worried when he woke up alone.”

Stiles grumbles but the pad of bare feet sounds on the porch.

“We're not done talking about this. You still have some grovelling to do,” Stiles sniffs.

Scott sighs but it's full of amusement.

Derek remains propped up on his elbows as he follows Stiles’ path through the house with his ears. The rest of the pack are scattered around the downstairs, either sitting in the lounge or at the kitchen table, and through a quick count, it seems John is among their number too. With the new bond, the pack finally feels whole, the last piece slotted into place.

No one speaks as Stiles climbs the stairs, and when he reaches Derek’s door, he pauses to take a deep breath before opening it.

He’s wearing a pair of Derek’s pyjama pants and no shirt, clearly displaying the magnificent bruise at the side of his neck from the press of Derek’s fangs. It knocks the breath from Derek’s lungs. He looks perfect.

His thoughts must show on his face because the trepidation on Stiles’ softens. He clambers on the bed from the foot of it and walks forward on his knees until he’s straddling Derek’s hips.

Derek sits up and his arms encircle Stiles’ waist, cradling him close. He would be content just to have that, but Stiles leans in for a simple, close-mouthed kiss and makes it impossibly better.

“I do love you,” Derek whispers against his lips. He hears Stiles’ heart skip a beat and smiles.

“And I love you,” Stiles says back, cupping his cheek and stroking with his thumb. “I realise during sex was hardly the best moment for the first time saying it but… I do. I really do.”

Affection swells in his chest, so overwhelming all he can do is bury his face in Stiles’ neck and breathe him in. Breathe _them_ in. Their entwined scents are emanating from the bite on Stiles’ neck and he marvels how, despite their newly-mated status, it’s barely changed from what it had been before.

“You’ve smelled like mine for months,” he breathes, realising it only as the words leave his mouth.

“Yours,” Stiles confirms. He presses a kiss to Derek’s crown and then rests his cheek against it.

Derek rumbles in his chest at that (a growl, not a purr no matter what Stiles might say later). The desire to claim Stiles once more surges through him and he pulls him in for a searing kiss, but Stiles turns his face away with a groan. “I think the pack’s waiting to congratulate their Alpha.”

Derek sighs and thunks his head back against the headboard.

“The quicker we go down, the quicker we get rid of them,” Stiles whispers in his ear, grazing his teeth against the lobe. Derek sighs again but the promises layered in Stiles’ voice spur him to throw back the sheet.

Downstairs in the lounge, the pack all get to their feet, beaming. They approach Stiles and either hug or brush a hand against him, and then Derek. Stiles’ eyes are bright, a smile lifting cheeks dusted with pink, and Derek’s heart feels like it’s about to burst. He reaches out and takes Stiles’ hand in his, needing the contact.

John steps in from the kitchen with a mug of coffee.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” he says, a twinkle in his eye. “I would say welcome to the family, but I think you earned that spot a long time ago.”

Stiles ropes the two of them into a hug, just as he had the night before when the Kennedys left them for good. Not a thing has changed between them.

After much backslapping, John steps back. “And on that note, I get the feeling you’ll want us all out of your hair, so I’ll be on my way. I’m beat.” He drains the rest of the coffee and sets the mug in the sink before heading to the door and the rest of the pack soon follows after lots of catcalling that has Derek and Stiles both unable to stifle grins.

Rather than divest each other of their clothes and head back to bed as soon as the front door is shut — or not make it further than the couch — Stiles prepares them breakfast, Derek useless where he’s wrapped his arms around Stiles’ middle and is clinging like a limpet.

They eat at the table, legs entwined as before, and then they sit out on the porch swing, arranging cushions so Derek can sit sideways along the seat with Stiles curling in his lap. They lay there for the rest of the morning, Derek idly rocking them with one foot against the porch, Stiles idly pressing at the bruise on his neck all the while.

They still don’t really talk about it, but not because they’re not sure how. They know that they’re both on exactly the same page, and though the time will come for Derek to tell him about his epiphany of two days ago, for now his knot and the bruise at Stiles’ neck say it all.

They do laugh about how backwards they’ve done things. Everyone else in the pack had years of a real relationship before they mated, but Derek and Stiles have all that to catch up on.

Tomorrow, Stiles will work as usual, Derek will write his book as usual and prepare lunch as usual. Then Stiles will come home, they’ll eat dinner and share a bed. It’s the life they’ve already been living for the past week thanks to the Kennedys, and now it never has to end.

A new usual he looks forward to getting used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endings are hard and I really struggled back when I was writing this chapter. I just hope my giftee is satisfied!  
>  ~~I hope you’ll pop back when the authors of this Exchange are revealed to see who I am and maybe check out some of my other stuff.~~  
>  You can find me on tumblr [here](http://kaistrex.tumblr.com) or at my fic rec blog [UnderappreciatedSterek](http://underappreciatedsterek.tumblr.com)!  
> Thanks for reading!


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